


The Concertmaster and the Coffee Girl

by Alexandra_Lovely



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, BDSM, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hate Sex, Pain, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:23:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandra_Lovely/pseuds/Alexandra_Lovely
Summary: I wrote this to cope with the abuse I am put through.(PLEASE NOTE, THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP, A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP SHOULDN'T BE THAT WAY, PLEASE SEEK HELP IF YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS ABUSIVE)





	The Concertmaster and the Coffee Girl

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to cope with the abuse I am put through. 
> 
> (PLEASE NOTE, THIS IS NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP, A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP SHOULDN'T BE THAT WAY, PLEASE SEEK HELP IF YOUR RELATIONSHIP IS ABUSIVE)

His fingers were cold. 

He needed to warm them up before the concert, but he was bored, and didn’t really want to play.

The girl in front of him looked perfectly fitting for that task, huddled together on the couch in his practice room, typing something on her phone.

“Come here,” the man said, leaning back in his chair, watching the confused girl with a taunting smirk.

She stood up, placed her phone away and stepped over to him, one eyebrow quirked.

He swiftly pulled her into his lap, holding her down, even though she squirmed in panic.

She calmed down after a while, accepting that he won, pouting at him.

“My fingers are cold,” he said, matter-of-factly, while one skilful hand glid down her body, to undo her black jeans.

He slipped into her panties, finding her shaved clean, exactly the way he liked it.

“I gotta warm them up somewhere,” his voice sounded almost like a question, making the girl feel like a fool, as if a man casually slipping his fingers in your pussy, was the most natural thing in the world.

He found her opening, not so gently pushing both index and middle finger inside her, impatiently fingering her.

“You could do it somewhere else,” the brunette girl tried to protest, blushing furiously at his action, though opening her legs further. “L-Like on your violin or something...”

He stopped for a torturous moment, biting down onto her soft neck, making he cry out.

“True,” he agreed, breathing against her neck, sending shivers down her spine. “But you know what, I can make anything my violin. Your cute little cunt as well.”

He suddenly stood up, making her clasp her legs around his waist. The man moved to the desk in the middle of the roam, throwing the girl on top of it, ignoring her pained whimper.

He ripped her jeans off, throwing them somewhere behind him, leaving the girl in her black socks and panties, with a visible, dark patch in the middle.

"You whore,” the man scoffed, pulling her panties off as well.

He grabbed the chair he was preciously sitting on, sitting down on it facing the desk, so the girl was in front of him like an open book.

The man roughly plunged two fingers inside her, while the other hand played with the female’s clit, loving the way the girl moaned and whimpered, stopping his ministrations the moment he knew she enjoyed it a little too much.

He rose to his feet, grabbing her hair roughly, making her face him.

“Oh, suddenly you like it?” His voice was threatening, quiet, with hidden poison in it, a cruel smirk on his thin lips.

“Well, I-“

“Shut up,” he interrupted her mercilessly. “This isn’t about you, understand?”

She looked up at him with big, round, scared eyes, bottom lip trembling. But he knew she wouldn’t cry. She was furious, but she wouldn’t cry. It took more, a lot more to make her cry. And he wanted her to cry, fuck, he wanted her to ruin her picture perfect makeup, and cry. She was so ugly when she cried, almost obscurely beautiful, in a grotesque way.

Maybe because then she was, for once, weaker than him?

He didn’t knew, and right now, he didn’t care. He pulled up her shirt, manhandling her so she would lie uncomfortably, smirking at the pained gasps as his fingers attacked her breasts, tweaking the rosy nubs painfully.

She gasped out in pain, because he purposely leaned down to bite her nipples, with his front teeth, painfully pressing down, so the girl would cry out in sheer horror.

He pulled away, looking her straight in the eyes, his fingers still pulling at her tits.

“I fucking told you to shut up, didn’t I?” He took a small swing and slapped her cheek, not as painful as he’d wanted it, but effectively making the girl cry out again. 

“You’re one shitty violin, sound like shit.”

He spat in her face, his spit landing on her cheek, running down her skin. He was determined to make her cry, hell, he would make her cry, even if that meant breaking her completely.

His fingers went lower down her body, finding her cunt again, painfully scratching her clit with his nails.

“You disgust me,” he hissed, leaning back down again, right in front of her face. “Piece of garbage, you don’t even deserve my fingers, you fucking slut.”

He kissed her. The way he always kissed her, roughly, impatient, teeth clanking against each other, nearly drawing blood from her bottom lip.

His fingers were inside her again, practicing some wicked melody against her sweet spot.

She moaned into his mouth, legs shaking from pleasure.

The man knew she was close, that’s why right before her orgasm he pulled his fingers out, smearing her juices against her lips, making her lick them clean.

“Disgusting.” He said, holding his fingers as if they were venomous.

He went to the sink, using purposely too much soap, because he knew she watched him, and he wanted her too feel humiliated and dirty.

The girl turned away, hating him in that very moment. 

Wrong move.

The man dried his hands on the fluffy towel, and returned to the desk, grabbing the girl by the hair, pulling her down to kneel, ripping his zipper open.

“I hope you like sucking cock as much as you like being an annoying piece of garbage,” he scoffed, and before the girl could even answer anything, he stuck his dick in her mouth, thrusting himself into her throat.

The blonde fucked her throat with such force, as if he wanted to make her pay for having a cunt, for having a slit between her legs. He actually called her his personal, breathing slit, on some days, when their mood was especially bad.

But that whore always let him do anything he wanted with her. Just as she did now.

She let him fuck her mouth, obediently, not fighting back, snot, and mascara black tears running down her face.

He grinned at her, watching tears flood her eyes, ruining the make-up she spent hours on.

“Worthless piece a shit,” he said that to get off. He knew all too well she achieved so many things, she was so much better than him. It made him mad, it made him angry, it made him want to kill her. Maybe just keep his dick in her throat till she’d suffocate.

She knew he was close. She heard it in his frantic breath, in his short thrusts.

A few moments later he shot his load in her mouth. 

She gagged.

The taste of cum wasn’t her favourite anyways, and especially not his cum, that always tasted slightly sour.

He waited, with a taunting smirk on his thin lips, till she’d swallow. Only then he pulled out, smearing some excessive cum on her lips.

“Lick it o-“

Someone interrupted him, banging at the door with full force.  
The girl saw panic shoot through his blue eyes. Not for her reputation. For his.

“What the fuck is taking you so long? We’re starting in ten minutes,” said an annoyed stage manager, that had to make sure everyone would be on the right places in the right moment.

“Just a sec,” the blonde yelled, hastily zipping up his pants, mad that someone interrupted, and he didn’t got to humiliate the girl even more.

He watched her for a moment. Probably admiring the snot and spit that run down her chin, his artwork, his masterpiece. A broken, ruined girl, that was perfectly fine, before he filled her up with alcohol, that one evening, and fucked her into the old mattress in the little room backstage.

The unspoken questions hung in the air.

Why is she coming back? What pulls her towards him?

She didn’t love him. And neither did he. There wasn’t any mutual attraction. He was abusing her, and she allowed it, because she was bored of living.

Why not allow a guy to ruin you? Nothing like the good ol blackmailing story to spice up your life.

She noticed him hesitate for a moment, before he pushed her to the floor.

He spat on her, walked over to the desk, grabbing his violin, and not saying a word walked past her, out of the door.

Nobody knew what happened, when she sat there, watching him walk out on stage, a seemingly nice guy, the one that probably buys his girlfriend roses and takes her to nice restaurants.

But everybody noticed the smell of sex, and the cold fingers of the concertmaster.


End file.
